


prepare for the coup of the century

by icygrace



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And if King Edward has no son, then his brother George will be king when he dies."<br/>"Yes! Exactly! George Duke of Clarence. He will be King of England and I will be queen."<br/>"Queen Isabel."<br/>"I’ve always thought it sounded well."<br/>"Izzy, you will be so grand!" </p><p>George and Warwick win in '69 and it changes everything for everyone, not least of all Anne and Richard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She doesn’t look well,” Anne says softly of Duchess Cecily, who looks thinner and paler than she has ever seen her, eyes ringed with dark circles. “You’d think she’d be happier now that George is king.”

_September 1469_

“She doesn’t look well,” Anne says softly of Duchess Cecily, who looks thinner and paler than she has ever seen her, eyes ringed with dark circles. “You’d think she’d be happier now that George is king.”

 

“I think she feels guilty,” Isabel says with a shudder of distaste for the pitiable woman once known as Proud Cis, without whom she would not be queen. “I can’t imagine picking and choosing between sons like she did.”

 

“She probably has nightmares about Edward. I would.”

 

Isabel shakes her head sadly. “Edward is dead and buried. I think it’s Richard that troubles her now.”

 

He troubles Anne, too. She knows, as they all do, that Richard was taken prisoner with Sir Richard Woodville, Woodville’s sons Anthony and John, and William Hastings at Chepstow and brought to Coventry following Edward’s death and her father’s victory at Edgecote Moor. When they first learned that the Woodvilles and Hastings had been executed at Father’s command without a trial, Anne’s heart froze in her chest, fearing that Richard had joined them on the block, as the five men had comprised Edward’s inner circle.  

 

When their father returned to court, he said, chillingly, that he would have ordered it done had George not asserted himself and instead demanded that his surviving brother be locked in the Tower. She was horrified, remembering the genuine affection her father had always had for Richard at Middleham.

 

She realized then that she does not like being the queen’s sister; she does not like her father restored to power. She likes it not at all.

 

\---

 

Now Anne learns, to her horror, that George wants Richard dead as much as her father does.

 

Fortunately, Richard has a champion in his mother. “He’s just a boy –”

 

“He is nearly seventeen; he was man enough to fight for Edward and command his own men,” Father retorts. “Old enough to –”

 

Duchess Cecily shoots him a freezing look before focusing her attention on George again. “He was only a boy when your father died and he looked to Edward nearly as a father. You must understand and forgive –”

 

George interrupts, “I’m sorry for your loss, Mother, but I will not.”

 

“You _will_ forgive him –”

 

Except Richard did nothing requiring forgiveness. He remained loyal to his king when George turned traitor. It is only now that traitorous George is victorious that Richard’s loyalty is considered treason and a sin.

 

“I command it.” It seems Proud Cis has found her backbone again.

 

“You do not command me,” George hisses.

 

“I am your mother,” she grits out.

 

“Yes, and I am your king!”

 

Duchess Cecily’s hand is at her heart, clearly stunned. Though a wolf within, George has been ever a lamb with her.

 

“But for your sake, lady mother,” George continues more calmly. “I will show Richard mercy –”

 

Mercy? George? But she will not question; she will –

 

“The mercy of choosing the means of his own death. Whether it be the sword or the scaffold or the block, or whatever he chooses, but he will die.”

 

Duchess Cecily looks as if George has stabbed her through the heart. “You can’t kill him; he’s your _brother_!”

 

Inside, Anne scoffs even as her heart is breaking. _You did not protest when he rose against Edward, who was his brother just the same._ But she knows she must remain silent if she wishes Richard to live, even as the odds dwindle by the moment; Duchess Cecily is perhaps the only person who wishes to and can move George’s heart on the matter and she is failing. He would never listen to Anne and anyone else he might listen to, like Father or perhaps even Isabel if he is feeling generous now that she is with child, would surely support him in having his brother executed.

 

“I can, and I will,” he says angrily.

 

“You would see me lose another son?” Duchess Cecily asks in broken disbelief before dropping to her knees. “Please, George. Please. You’re my son, my favorite son,” she pleads. “You can’t do this to me, not you, not my precious boy. You would not do such a thing to me. You would not take Richard from me; he is all I truly have left of your father –”

 

It is the first time since Duchess Cecily began to speak that Anne sees something flicker in George’s eyes; the memory of the late Duke of York holds a nearly mystical power over his children, particularly his sons. Perhaps at last George will realize that his father would be ashamed of what he has done and of what he thinks to do.

 

“The only one of you with his look, our last boy, his namesake. Please, George, I beg you.”

 

Isabel’s tear-filled eyes widen, hand pressed to her belly as if praying that she will never endure such a horror, that she will never have to beg one child for another’s life; Anne can scarcely believe her eyes at what her great-aunt has been reduced to.

 

When George remains silent and frozen, Duchess Cecily prostrates herself at his feet. “I beg you! Please. Please, George.”

 

Isabel is openly crying now and Anne is scarcely succeeding at containing her own tears at the awful tableau.

 

“Mother, get up,” George orders, looking embarrassed at having driven Duchess Cecily to such lengths as he bends to help her rise, but she does not move.

 

“George, _please_ –”

 

“I will think about it. I promise nothing, but I will think on it.”

 

“Thank you,” Duchess Cecily sighs deeply, taking his hands at last.

 

George releases her with surprising gentleness once she is on her feet, but says nothing further to her, turning to Isabel and Anne. “Isabel, calm yourself. It’s not good for you to be upset.”

 

Isabel nods obediently.

 

“Anne, see to it that she rests.”

 

She nods as well, putting an arm around her sister to lead her away, wishing only that George would send Father away as well, or else he will surely fill his ears with poison against Richard.

 

\---

 

_November 1469_

 

From his August imprisonment, Richard languishes in the Tower for three months before George makes a determination as to his fate. Anne has spent every day of those three months on her knees in prayer whenever she is not attending Isabel. Both her father and her mother comment on her newfound piety, but she never shares with them the subject of her pleas to the Almighty. She suspects Mother may have guessed, but does not want to _know_ , for she wants George’s reign secured as much as Father does.

 

The fact that Richard is to be brought out mere days before Duchess Cecily’s name day fills Anne with hope; surely George could not be so cruel as to break his mother’s heart then, not after she begged so earnestly for her youngest son’s life.

 

\---

 

When two guards escort Richard into the throne room at Westminster, filled to capacity with nobles, Anne is stunned at the sight of him.

 

Richard has always been slight, but he has filled out in recent years thanks to his dedicated training; now, he is quite thin. _Have they not been feeding him properly in the Tower? Did George hope to starve him into submission – or the grave?_ He is sallow-skinned, in desperate need of a haircut and a shave. She imagines that if Duchess Cecily weren’t so relieved to see him alive, she would upbraid George for allowing his brother to be brought to court in such a poor state. What saddens Anne most, however, is what she fears is not repairable: the dullness in Richard’s eyes.

 

“Oh, Dickon,” the Duchess of Suffolk breathes in dismay somewhere behind her. “My poor little brother.”

 

“Father would cry for shame if he could see what’s become of his sons,” the Duchess of Exeter whispers back, sounding equally distressed.

 

She knows that the duchesses are only at court to add their voices to their mother’s in hopes of softening George’s heart, but it is the newly-arrived Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy, his favorite sister, who favors him in return, who may truly move him. They are close in age; three years his senior and six years Richard’s, Margaret doted on her younger brothers when they were children. Even now, she stands just beyond the throne. Though Anne can see that, unlike her older sisters, Margaret says nothing, her eyes are eloquent.

 

“Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Gloucester,” intones the herald.

 

“ _Former_ Duke of Gloucester. By act of Parliament, he was named an attainted traitor,” George corrects from his seat on the throne for the benefit of the assembled court. “However, he has been fortunate enough to secure a royal pardon –”

 

_Thank God. Thank God, he will live._

 

“By the good offices of –”

 

“I’d rather be executed than pardoned by a fratricide and usurper!” Richard interrupts, voice hoarse from disuse.

 

Anne’s heart leaps into her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Be Prepared” from The Lion King. (It has turned out to be surprisingly rich in phrases that make good titles for TWQ fic.) Quotes in the summary are from The Kingmaker's Daughter and The White Queen TV series, respectively. This is based on a mix of the TV series and the books series. 
> 
> I suppose I am partly taking The White Queen/Cousins' War characterization of Cecily Neville, but tempering it some.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elder daughters of York gasp behind her, but every other courtier is so shocked that no one makes a sound. She is not sure anyone even breathes. No one would have dared say such a thing, do such a thing, when Edward or even mad Henry reigned.

The elder daughters of York gasp behind her, but every other courtier is so shocked that no one makes a sound. She is not sure anyone even breathes. No one would have dared say such a thing, do such a thing, when Edward or even mad Henry reigned.

 

Duchess Cecily freezes in horror, a hand raised to her trembling lips and the other at her heart. Margaret goes deathly white; she looks as though she will swoon. Wide-eyed Isabel, sitting beside George on her throne, bites her lip in a most un-queenly manner, breaking the icy façade she has worked so hard to cultivate.

 

Father does not look triumphant at the fact that Richard has just signed his own death warrant, as Anne would have expected. His face is quite expressionless, lips flattened into a thin line. Mother’s lips part in shock a moment, before she bites her lower lip just as Isabel did – it is an uncharacteristically revealing habit both her daughters learned from her.

 

But from the mulish expression that steals over George’s face, Anne knows, with sudden and complete confidence, that he will still pardon Richard – not from benevolence or filial duty to Duchess Cecily or love for his sisters and certainly not for Richard himself, but from spite. He will make Richard suffer his forgiveness, torment him with clemency that Richard will see as breaching his duty of loyalty to Edward and sullying his honor.

 

George proves her entirely right. “You have been fortunate enough to secure a royal pardon by the good offices,” he repeats. “Of the Duchess of York, our lady mother, and our sisters. Because I know your treasonous raving arises from grief, though Edward’s rule was unlawful, I will forgive you. However, you will return to the Tower so that you may have time to think and come to your senses, so that you will learn to show the proper respect to your rightful king and gratitude for their intercession and my mercy.”

 

Richard is not allowed another word; he is led away by the guards, glaring fiercely at George all the while.

 

Anne has never been so grateful for George’s stubborn, spiteful nature in her life.  

 

\---

 

“I am afraid,” Isabel says anxiously to her that night.

 

“Of Richard being pardoned?” she asks uneasily. George publicly committed himself to pardoning his brother, but he is king; surely he could find some excuse if he wishes to go back on his word if Isabel tells him she is very anxious. He will not want to risk the heir she carries.

 

“No. That George will change his mind. I am afraid of what will happen if he stains his hands with another brother’s blood. I am afraid his reign will be cursed, _we_ will be cursed, and our baby,” she confesses, rubbing her belly protectively.

 

“Oh, Izzy.” She wraps an arm around her sister, rubbing her back softly.

 

“And you want him to be pardoned, too, don’t you? That’s why you’ve spent so much time at chapel,” Isabel says sleepily after a long while. Isabel knows her too well.

 

She nods against the top of Isabel’s head as her sister nods off.

 

Perhaps she should save some of her prayers for her sister and the baby in her belly, but she knows there are many people praying for a Prince of Wales; how many are praying for the wayward former Duke of Gloucester besides his mother and sisters?

 

\---

 

_January 1470_

 

It does not happen overnight, but it seems that God eventually listens to her prayers.

 

After much debate, George orders Richard freed from the Tower not long after Twelfth Night – _a belated Christmas present for my lady mother_ , George calls his brother’s release into Duchess Cecily’s keeping. He is to remain with her wherever she makes her household, whether Baynard’s Castle, Fotheringhay, or elsewhere of her choice. He likely would have done anyhow, even if his freedom had not come with conditions, for he has nothing of his own now.

 

Father frowns. She knows he would have preferred to keep Richard himself, perhaps at Middleham, though there are enough people there who were fond of Richard as a boy that they would be torn despite their loyalty to Father and to Isabel if he should engage their assistance for any sort of mischief. With Father, it would surely have been something like house arrest; with Duchess Cecily, it will be nothing of the sort. She will coddle Richard back to health, and Anne is much relieved at the thought. He did not look well in November and surely was not improved by two more months of imprisonment.

 

She should feel a poor daughter for being cheered so by something that makes her father unhappy, but she cannot help it. And her father has so much now, everything he truly wanted, for Warwick the Kingmaker has made his son-in-law king and his daughter queen, and his grandson will be Prince of Wales.

 

One day, a Neville boy will sit the throne of England.

\---

_March 1470_

 

Upon returning from a brief military campaign, Father assures George, “We’ve quelled the unrest in the east –”

 

“Had it anything to do with Richard?” Isabel interrupts anxiously, rubbing her belly. She complains ceaselessly that the child kicks most fiercely, that her insides must be black and blue, that he does not allow her to sleep well or long.

 

And when Isabel does not sleep, Anne does not either, for she keeps her company each night now that she is heavy with child.

 

_George says he will be tempted if we continue to share a bed, even if the Church says man and wife must not lie together when a woman is with child, and he does not want to risk the child._

_So he will take a mistress?_

_I hope not. I would never ask, but I hope not._

 

Though she questions whether George loves her sister, whether he is, in fact, capable of loving anyone but himself, it is good for Izzy’s sake that he at least desires her. And she has, to her surprise, not heard that George has taken a lover or had even an illicit tumble or two.

 

Perhaps it was impertinent, but she remarked upon it to her lady mother, who admitted her own surprise. _Neither have I. I did not think George had it in him. I was sure York’s scrupulous fidelity to his duchess was one thing that passed his sons by entirely._

 

“Isabel, really,” George says impatiently. “By all accounts, his behavior has been impeccable.”

 

“Your mother’s accounts, and she has the most admirable motive of keeping her son alive,” Father reminds him sardonically, even though Anne knows he must have at least one spy in Duchess Cecily’s household.

 

“Yes, yes, I suppose maternal affection may color her reckoning of Richard,” George admits. He frowns thoughtfully into his goblet before looking up at Father. “Then let us marry him to Anne when she is of age to wed; surely he cannot plot against me under your nose and hers.”

 

_Marry Richard?_


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marrying Richard is what she has always wanted.

Marrying Richard is what she has always wanted.

 

But in these circumstances . . .

 

Isabel says reluctantly, “She’ll be fourteen in three months’ t –”

 

“But she is the queen’s sister,” Father interrupts impatiently.

 

“And? Do you think you will find a better match for her than the king’s brother?” George demands, prickly with Plantagenet pride.

 

“The king’s brother who is an attainted traitor, stripped of his lands and titles.” She knows Father thinks perhaps of someone like the young duke of Buckingham, lately freed from his inconvenient and inferior Woodville wife, for her to marry.

 

“Richard has been forgiven and will be restored. He merely needed to be taught a lesson,” George says dismissively.

 

“Then do you not wish to preserve him for a diplomatic match?”

 

For an odd moment, she wants to laugh: her father, who had finally snapped and rebelled against Edward because he would not give his brothers as grooms for Isabel and her, now turns up his nose at Richard.

 

“You worry he will betray me and you want me to . . . what, exactly? Wed him to Mary of Burgundy and her fortune?”

 

The pointed question confirms Anne’s suspicion that Mary’s stepmother, George’s own sister Margaret, has not easily reconciled herself to Edward’s death, that her dancing attendance on George months before and her efforts to act as if all were well were in service of securing Richard’s pardon. She wonders, too, if George has a single friend, anyone truly on his side, within his own family. She might feel sorry for him if Edward’s death were not his fault, no matter who actually dealt the killing blow, and if he had not nearly ordered Richard’s execution.

 

Father looks chastened – a strange look for him. “There are other brides.”

 

“Who will be useful to me, and loyal to my queen?”

 

Perhaps they have all underestimated George.

 

“Annie, what do you think?” Isabel asks softly.

 

George nearly rolls his eyes, as though Anne’s opinion about her future marriage is irrelevant, which she supposes it is, but does not chastise Isabel; no one wants to upset her when she is so near to her time. She is about to go into confinement in a matter of days.

 

“I am honored,” she answers evenly, despite her racing heart. “And will obey whatever my most gracious brother the king’s wishes are for my future.”

 

To his credit, George looks suspicious, but does not question her uncharacteristic easy acquiescence. “See to a dispensation, Warwick.”

 

“It will be very dear –”

 

George scoffs at him. “You are rich and I have made you richer. I am sure you can afford it.”

 

\---

 

When Duchess Cecily returns to court for the feast before Isabel’s confinement, Anne notes with real pleasure that she looks much better; perhaps she has reconciled herself to what has passed and her own part in it now that she has Richard returned to her.

 

“My dear,” Duchess Cecily says in greeting, with unusual warmth, and grasps her hands.

 

Anne blinks a moment.

 

“I know they won’t say anything publicly yet,” Duchess Cecily continues, lowering her voice. “Not until the dispensation is secured –”

 

 _Oh._ It hadn’t occurred to her that Duchess Cecily would have been told, not yet. But if Duchess Cecily knows, then surely Richard must and yet – She nods. “Of course.”

 

“I always wanted Richard to marry you. I must have discussed it with your mother a dozen times. That was why I was so pleased that he was made your father’s ward. I wanted you to know each other.”

 

“I am pleased, too,” she assures Duchess Cecily. “But –” Perhaps it is brazen, but she simply _must_ ask, and Duchess Cecily has been uncharacteristically open with her; she will never have a better chance. “What does Richard think?”

 

“He has always been fond of you,” Duchess Cecily finally answers. “You are a far better match for him than some foreign girl, and he will be restored.”

 

Not yet, but soon. George has again assured Father that it will be so – and, in the same breath, demanded that Father give over Middleham to them when they are married as part of her dowry.

 

Though it had infuriated Father, she is pleased at the thought of having her childhood home – her favorite of their many castles and manors – for her own after her marriage.

 

“Oh, it is the very best thing for him,” Duchess Cecily resumes with quiet relish. “And I hope you will be married sooner rather than later. I will be happy to call you my daughter.”

 

Her throat feels quite tight. “And I to call you mother.”

 

\---

 

_April 1470_

 

It is Mother’s honor to bring the first royal child to the king, with Anne trailing anxiously behind.

 

She did not want to leave Isabel, not even for a moment, but she must see how George reacts.

 

“A girl, Your Grace,” Mother says softly.

 

“A girl,” George repeats, his face unreadable for once. He has spent all of these months speaking of his son and heir with the greatest certainty.

 

Mother begins, “I –”

 

George interrupts, “She is beautiful like her mother.”

 

“She is,” Anne agrees with no small amount of relief. “And very healthy, the midwives say.”

 

“I have no doubt her brothers will be just so.”

 

Everyone nods their agreement, murmuring “of course” and “God willing.”

 

“And what shall the princess’s name be?” Mother asks as the murmurs die away.

 

“Mother,” Anne hisses. “Isabel said –”

 

“Isabel will abide by the king’s will,” Mother says with a quelling air.

 

With remarkable indulgence, George asks, “Ah, but my queen has a thought of her own?”

 

“She does,” Anne answers when her mother does not.

 

“And what is her wish?”

 

“To call the princess Anne for our lady mother.”

 

“And not her aunt?” Father asks, a teasing note in his voice, his first words since they brought the baby out. His face had darkened at hearing “a girl,” so Anne is relieved to see he does not look so very forbidding any longer. Perhaps, like George, he has decided he must act as if there is aught amiss.

 

“Well, our lady mother is my namesake also,” Anne allows, flushing slightly.

 

George reaches for the baby and, after hesitating a moment, Mother carefully puts her in his arms.

 

“Anne,” George says contemplatively, peering down at her niece’s dear little face. “I think it will suit her. Let us hope she has your spirit, sister.”

 

It is easily the nicest thing her brother-in-law has ever said to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviating from the book/show to go with history on the gender of George and Isabel’s first child, because the baby was actually a girl and named Anne. While George was/is very fond of his mother, I suspect they’d hesitate to use Cecily because of Edward’s daughter. Although children in the same extended family might often end up with the same namesake and name (see: Edward V, Edward of Middleham, and Edward of Warwick all named for Edward IV), I think George and Isabel would probably prefer not to do anything that even remotely brought up memories of the royal family that preceded them, particularly so early in George's reign.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Anne, Duchess of Gloucester.
> 
> It sounds so very well.

In a rather unfortunate coincidence, the patent restoring Richard as Duke of Gloucester is issued on his name day – the same day Isabel gave birth to a beautiful York princess.

 

Rather than Richard’s restoration being seen as a sign of royal benevolence, it is being said, Mother tells her fretfully, that George restored his brother – who as a consequence will be recognized as his heir until he has a son – as a swift showing of displeasure over the birth of a daughter rather than the expected son.

 

“It’s not _true_. He promised Father weeks ago, before Izzy’s confine –”

 

“It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true; it’s what people will think. What they do think. It is no good for your sister.”

 

Her lovely sister, who is quite besotted with her baby girl, despite fretting over the possibility of George’s displeasure. _She is healthy_ , Isabel said hopefully. _That is proof I can bear healthy children; it means her brothers will be strong._

 

“Well, he wasn’t pleased, but he wasn’t _dis_ pleased either,” Anne reminds her mother, who ignores her and sits down with a sigh.

 

Mother does not even acknowledge the boon the patent had, indirectly, bestowed on her: because it also accords Richard the title of prince, Anne will, as his wife, be a princess.

 

_Princess Anne, Duchess of Gloucester._

 

It sounds so very well.

 

Richard has also been granted the Earldom of Cambridge, which had belonged to his grandfather and father in turn and is meant to be assumed by his firstborn son at birth. While the estates associated with the Earldom of March are far grander, she suspects it would be deeply upsetting to Richard to be handed the title Edward had been known by until the Duke of York’s death; perhaps it is some hidden modicum of tact and not greed that led George to grant him Cambridge instead.

 

Another patent confers on Duchess Cecily the title _Queen of right_. During Edward’s reign she had had to content herself with the title _Cecily, the king’s mother and late wife unto Richard in right king of England and of France and lord of Ireland_ and George and Richard, though acknowledged as princes of the blood as the king’s brothers and given titles, lands, and offices worthy of their place, had never been granted princely privileges.

 

\---

 

_May 1470_

 

She does not see Richard until two days after he returns to court.

 

Her heart thuds in her chest and she must look like a complete fool until a very stern-looking Duchess Cecily catches her eye from across the presence chamber, her arm looped closely through Richard’s, and the pair of them walk towards her. “At last there is a moment for you to greet one another; the king has had need of Richard and could not be refused,” the duchess says stiffly.

 

Richard greets her with an elegant bow and a cool, courteous kiss upon her hand – perfectly correct, the picture of propriety. “Lady Anne. I pray you are well,” he says once he has released her hand.

 

“I am, and I pray you are also,” she says softly.

 

He certainly looks it: there is no longer a sickly tinge to his skin; he is well-groomed and well-dressed and has clearly been well-fed in his time in his mother’s household.

 

“Your Grace,” she adds belatedly, for she feels nothing of the easy companionship and camaraderie that had existed between them even when she was only a bothersome little girl.

 

He does not tell her not to bother with formalities. “May you wear this in good health, my lady,” he says, sliding a beautiful betrothal ring onto her finger. It is a perfect fit, the sapphire sparkling up at her in the sunlight filtering in the window.

 

She hopes it is a sign.

 

\---

 

_June 1470_

To her crushing disappointment, it is not.

Though a bolt of finest cloth arrives for her birthday from Baynard’s Castle, her betrothed does not bestir himself to come to Westminster again to wish her well, preferring to remain with Duchess Cecily. And though the dispensation for their marriage arrives just before Isabel’s churching and little Nan’s christening, he does not return to court at all until the day of their shared niece’s christening.

 

“Anne ascendant,” her half-sister Margaret teases in a whisper after George, who clearly realizes the value of a good show, makes a toast to her at the feast following the ceremony – for she is one of her niece’s namesakes and godmothers – and then another to her impending marriage to his “dear brother Richard.”

 

Beside her, Richard raises his cup to George in acknowledgment, but he does not smile; his expression is carefully neutral.

 

Quite against her will, it makes her shiver.

 

\---

 

_And I am sorry that we won’t be married, little Anne. I am sure you would have made an excellent duchess._

It seems the boy who once said those words with such sincerity – words she convinced herself were heartfelt and not meant only to appease her and soothe her ruffled feathers – is lost to her, to the world. His impassive mask has not slipped once since his arrival and it is making her increasingly uneasy.

 

He never speaks directly of their upcoming wedding. When he speaks to her at all, which he rarely does, there is no pleasure in his words or his voice, only that same awful aloofness. He has always been reserved, but this is different somehow; before, no matter how rare his smiles, he always had one for her.

 

Even as she scolds herself for being melodramatic, she cannot help but be afraid that the marriage she once dreamed of will instead be a nightmare.

 

\---

 

_July 1470_

 

_Don’t fear, little one, there will be a grand wedding for you too._

_I thought –_

_I know you did. But Richard is heart and soul for his brother the king, he would never do anything against Edward. I could not even ask him._

But George is his brother the king now, and George could ask him. Nay, George can command Richard to marry her now, can settle the day and the hour and the place of their wedding himself, and he has.

 

And it is to be a _very_ grand wedding. Isabel had staved off boredom and frustration in the weeks of her confinement by planning every detail, as she had not been able to do for her own wedding – lavish though it was, she had not been asked her opinion on any of it.

 

As Nan’s christening was made to surpass those of Edward’s daughters, Anne’s wedding is to be a sumptuous, extravagant event exceeding even the grandest celebration of Edward’s decadent court. There will be the very best musicians and entertainments and wine, the finest dishes served at every course, of which there will be too many count. Like her sister, Anne will wear a bridal gown of white silk and cloth of gold. Her gift from the king and queen is an extraordinary set of jewels: sapphire-and-diamond necklace, bracelet, and earrings to match her betrothal ring.

 

Other than the royal gifts, the most striking present she receives for herself is a brooch of pearls and diamonds shaped into the white rose of York from Duchess Margaret.

 

“While we must hope you give my brother fine sons, a sister for them would not be amiss, I think,” Margaret says mischievously, presenting her gift. “I hope you will wear this joyfully and your daughter after you.” 

 

Surprising herself, she embraces Margaret tightly, who, though equally surprised, returns it just as tightly. George views the match as a necessity, the duchesses of Exeter and Suffolk are wary of her family, Father and Mother are not fully pleased, though it once would have thrilled them to their bones.

 

And Richard . . . Richard is still so very distant.

 

Until today, she thought only Isabel and Duchess Cecily were truly happy, and so Margaret’s kindness touches her to the bottom of her heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I looked into royal titles et al, and came to the general conclusion that the monarch can essentially decree whatever he/she wants with respect to titles/styles (i.e., see the style of the late Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester – it became HRH Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester upon her husband’s death, with the permission of Queen Elizabeth II).


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are going to your wedding, not your execution,” Father says in an undertone once Isabel and Mother have ceased fussing over her and they are finally ready to depart for Westminster Abbey. “You must look the part of a happy bride, for you are marrying the king’s brother, the heir to the throne until your sister gives the king a son. You are a fortunate girl, Anne, and you must act like it,” he orders with grim determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been over three months, but hope you enjoy!

“You are going to your wedding, not your execution,” Father says in an undertone once Isabel and Mother have ceased fussing over her and they are finally ready to depart for Westminster Abbey. “You must look the part of a happy bride, for you are marrying the king’s brother, the heir to the throne until your sister gives the king a son. You are a fortunate girl, Anne, and you must act like it,” he orders with grim determination.

 

She does not retort that he does not look like the joyful father of a lucky bride, only nudges the edges of her lips up. As they ride through the streets of London to the Abbey, as her father walks her down the aisle, she pretends that she is utterly serene, so successfully that she nearly believes herself.

 

But when Father places her hand in Richard’s, the illusion shatters; her nerves overwhelm her so thoroughly that she truly fears she may cast up her accounts on the archbishop and her groom. She barely knows what she says, but she assumes she does not misspeak, for the proceedings do not grind to a halt and conclude with Richard pressing a cool, chaste kiss to her lips.

 

\---

 

Richard behaves beautifully at their wedding feast, his courtesies to her faultless and his dancing effortless. But there is no warmth in him; his heart is not touched and she fears he will remain utterly indifferent to her.

 

Besides those fears, there is her anxiety about their wedding night to plague her; though Richard puts the choicest cuts of meat on her plate himself, they are wasted upon her because she can barely eat a thing. There is a part of her that thinks to drink deeply to ease her nerves before the bedding, but with her mother’s sharp eyes upon her, she dares not.

 

Besides, what if she makes a fool of herself?

 

And Isabel’s description of her own wedding night haunts her all evening.

 

_Annie! Annie!_

_What is it? Was George bad to you? Has he hurt you?_

_Yes, but no more than Mother said I should expect. It wasn’t too bad._

_Are you all right?_

_Yes. But it was horrible. And disgusting. First horrible, then disgusting._

 

Finally, when Isabel arrives at her side to draw her away for the bedding, she shivers at her sister’s comforting pat on the arm.

 

Isabel gives her a sympathetic look and whispers rapidly before the others can hear, “It is not so bad as I said. The first time will not be very nice – it _will_ hurt, very much –”

 

“Isabel,” Mother hisses, as though Isabel were still only her unmarried daughter and not the queen of England.

 

“But after that it is much better, Annie. I promise.” Isabel smiles; it is a strange, secretive smile.

 

“Don’t look so,” Mother scolds, coming up beside her. “He won’t like it if you look so frightened.”

 

She knows her mother is right, that she mustn’t show her fear so plainly, but she cannot help it.

 

\---

 

“Are you scared?” Richard asks when they are alone, after the loud, drunken revelers have left them – George, who has decided to be pleased with his beautiful wife and thriving daughter, with his crown and the compliant younger brother who will not steal it from him, loudest of all. “You don’t need to be scared,” Richard says, before she has a chance to reply. “I will endeavor to be gentle.”

 

She nearly wants to cry, she feels so overwhelmed, but not from fear; she is relieved to hear in his words something of the old Richard beneath the cool, polished veneer of the day, of the past days and weeks. 

 

“Lie back.” She obeys, and he looms over her a moment before his weight presses her into the mattress. He kisses her once, very softly, then a second time – firmly and deliberately, but it is no less chaste than the kiss that sealed their marriage vows – before sweeping a hand from her shoulder to her hip.

 

Richard’s kisses and his touch are actually rather nice, but she cannot help but tense, and tense further when he pulls back to lift the hem of her shift. She doesn’t move, leaving it bunched at her waist as he moves off to undress.

 

Though her father is one of the greatest men in the land, she is a country girl at heart; she has seen their livestock, their mares and stallions, and has – not knowing better – done her best to guess at what is to come. If it is anything like that . . . well, it never looked very pleasant and she does not understand why Isabel smiled so –

 

She half-sits when Richard is done, scuttling backwards across the pillows; _that_ cannot possibly fit. It cannot. He will tear her apart.

 

“What are you – Come back,” he says, sounding as though he cannot imagine anything but her obedience. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”

 

She takes a deep breath and eases closer.

 

He leans over her once more. “I just need to be sure you are ready.” She would swear there is a tinge of pink slashing his cheekbones, but it must be a trick of the candlelight.

 

Though she does not understand at all, she nods rapidly. _Please let this be over soon._

Slowly, he spreads her legs and she must resist the instinct to close them. It is the oddest feeling when he eases one finger _inside_ her, into her most intimate place, where not even she has ever touched herself; she cannot help but gasp.

 

He strokes slowly before sliding in another finger and she feels stretched wide.

 

She has not entirely decided what she thinks of the new – and not unpleasant – sensations she is feeling when Richard removes his fingers and slowly replaces them with something else entirely.

 

“This may hurt,” he warns. He sounds rather odd, his voice a rough rasp through gritted teeth, as though _he_ is in pain; she has never heard him sound so before. “I’m sorry.” And then –

 

 _Oh_ , how it hurts. She gasps, but doesn’t realize she is crying until Richard speaks again.

 

“Don’t cry, Anne, please.”

 

“I can’t –” _I can’t help it_ , she means to say, but instead she takes a deep breath, trying to stem the flow of her tears.

 

Bracing himself above her with his arms, Richard takes a deep breath of his own, then another and a third. The pain ebbs slightly and she doesn’t know what else to expect until Richard asks, “Can I – can I move?”

 

Unsure if the fading pain will return, she nods warily.

 

He goes slowly at first, but then it is all over very quickly and he withdraws from her. “It will be better, the next time,” he assures her. “There will be no pain.”

 

But she is not very confident. She would not call it horrible and disgusting, but she _aches_ and she does not understand why people should like bedsport so.

 

Whatever she may feel about it, it is done; she is wedded and bedded, truly a wife, and a woman grown. There is no going back now.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He is so cold,” she complains plaintively the last time she is alone with her sister, after her trunks have been packed for Middleham and Isabel waves her ladies away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (?) anniversary of the Battle of Bosworth . . .

Despite the thaw on their wedding night, Richard falls back into cool courtesy the following morning.

 

She is very proud of how well she manages to hide her disappointment from everyone but Isabel, with whom she does not bother to try.  “He is so _cold_ ,” she complains plaintively the last time she is alone with her sister, after her trunks have been packed for Middleham and Isabel waves her ladies away.

 

At long last, when Anne has begun to think her sister will not respond at all, Isabel says very softly, “George was, too, at first. I think he regretted it, after all was said and done.”

 

“Regretted –?”

 

“Deciding to go against Edward with Father and marrying me. I was a means to an end he regretted.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“Edward was his brother, too, Annie,” Isabel says gently, as if speaking to a particularly dim but beloved child, before looking away.

 

_That’s not it. It’s very much worse, Annie. My wedding was never for me at all. It was a sign from Father that men should rise against the king, defying him as Father has done. They have had it planned for months. Father has thrown my bridal veil over an invasion._

_But to challenge the king? Isn’t that treason?_

_Father won’t challenge the king directly. He’ll demand that he surrender his bad advisors – the Rivers – and restore the councilors who have guided him wisely – that’s us. But one thing I really don’t know . . ._

_What? What don’t you know?_

_What if it’s a trick? What if it is a trick like they played on the sleeping king and the bad queen? Father and the Duke of York were never open rebels. They always said only that Henry should be better advised, but when they beat him in battle they took his crown from him. What if Father has turned traitor to Edward and is going to put him in the Tower along with Henry? What if he now thinks he will rule through George? Through George and me?_

_He will put you on the throne of England? You’re going to wear Her crown? You’re going to take Her place? Not waiting for Edward to die? Just taking everything?_

“But he defeated Edward. He is responsible for Edward’s death and so he can never mourn him ostentatiously, as Richard does.” Isabel looks at her again, eyes far wiser that her eighteen years. “But it was not my fault and it certainly isn’t yours. Richard will see that in time and he will not be able to help but love you.”

 

She wishes she shared her older sister’s confidence.

 

\---

 

But in the end, she is an optimistic girl and the Earl of Warwick’s daughter; she is used to getting her way. She will make her best efforts to besiege Richard’s cold, closed heart as her father would a fortified castle.

 

Once they are settled away from court at Middleham, it will be easier and, in time, she will be as successful in marital matters as her father has always been in martial ones. She is sure of it.

 

\---

 

_August 1470_

 

As they journey on to Middleham, Richard does not touch her. It makes her wonder if she displeased him so very much on their wedding night.

 

But he comes to her mother’s rooms – hers now, as her father’s rooms are his, and how strange it is that they are now to be lord and lady of the manor! – their first night at Middleham.

 

Her surprise must show on her face, for he begins, “If you are over-tired –”

 

She shakes her head. “It’s only that you didn’t come before and –” She blushes ferociously.

 

“We were traveling, and riding rather fast and hard. I only thought to allow you your rest and –” He falls silent and she would swear there is color rising in his cheeks also.  

 

“Oh,” she finally says. “Well then,” she adds meaninglessly. When it is obvious he will say nothing further, she squares her shoulders. _I am Anne Neville, and I will not cower_ , she reminds herself. “Let us go to bed, my lord.”

 

He hesitates only a moment before coming closer and kissing her – not quite the chaste kiss of their wedding night – before maneuvering her to her bed.

 

It is true that it is better than before. There is a dull twinge, but only a moment when he enters her, and again it is strange, if for different reasons – this time, she stiffens, shakes, and then, finally . . . there is no other word for it, _shatters_ under Richard’s touch _._ But it is a good sort of strange, and afterward she falls into the deepest, most restful sleep she has had since her father first rebelled against Edward.

 

\---

 

Despite the awkwardness of their days and the fact that she does not conceive right away as her sister did, a series of such nights makes her sure of her future success, until the day Richard takes it upon himself to dash her hopes.

 

She is not doing anything particularly tender or even wifely; she has only presented him with a set of handkerchiefs, embroidered with his initials and his boar device. She hopes they will please him. “I expect these will be useful to you.” 

 

“Thank you,” he says tersely.

 

“You are welcome,” she says, disappointed with his dispassionate reaction to the first gift of her own hands that she has made him as his wife.

 

After a long silence, he speaks again. “I will never be able to give you what you want,” he says bluntly.

 

“And what is it that you suppose I want?” He is making her anxious, looking up at her from his seat as if he can see inside her mind, but she will not pace.

 

“My love.”

 

She is horrified and humiliated both by his words and by the tears that spring to her eyes once she truly comprehends what he is saying. “You are an arrogant man, my lord,” she manages at last, giving him her back, when she can make her lips move to form the proper words. “To think yourself such a prize that I would care to have your heart.” She turns to face him then. “I already have what I wanted from this marriage: I am a royal duchess, my husband first in line to the throne until my sister the queen bears a son.”

 

“Good,” Richard says, as though he cares for her feelings and is relieved that he has not hurt her, but she can hear the indifference in his voice and see it in the impassivity of his face.

 

Though it is the right time for her to conceive, she bars her door that night as she would do if she were bleeding and cries herself to sleep, mourning the days when Richard did not treat her as if he hated her and everything that could have been if Edward had never married Elizabeth Woodville.

 

\---

 

But it seems Richard is not done inflicting pain on her.

 

In fact, he was only just beginning.

 

“I have a bastard daughter,” he says without preamble two days later as they break their fast together. “Her mother means to marry soon and so I am going to bring her here to live.”

 

Although everything she will own will be his when she inherits, Middleham is presently given to them for their use by her parents – the compromise Father and George came to, in the end; it is hers in a way her property will not be when her parents are dead, when everything she owns will belong to Richard. It is her family home. And yet Richard does not even show her the consideration of asking her opinion about his plans to bring his bastard daughter to live with them!

 

She seethes, but nods obediently, for what choice does she have? There is no point in appealing to Isabel, who is ruled by George, and Mother and Father will say only that it is the lot of royal and noble women to accept their lord husbands’ by-blows with equanimity, so long as their husbands do not show preference to their bastards over their legitimate children. “Very well,” she adds with perfect neutrality, every inch the proud, perfect royal duchess despite her humiliation.


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels powerless when she receives Isabel’s latest letter, reading her sister’s words over and over in disbelief.

Upon his return from Pontefract, again without asking her opinion, Richard has his daughter – named Katherine, but called Kate by her nurse and by Richard – established in the nursery at Middleham, the same nursery Isabel and Anne shared when they were girls, the same nursery Anne is meant to fill with her own children, Richard’s legitimate children. 

 

\---

_September 1470_

She decides one day that she will _not_ be kept out of her former nursery by the infant intruder, even though she has no reason to be there herself, and so she walks in, doing her best to appear entirely at ease and quite startling the child’s nurse.

 

“Your Grace!” Mistress Bell looks at her, wide-eyed, before she drops into a deep curtsy.

 

“Good morning,” she says when the woman has risen.

 

Clearly, the other woman is itching to ask why she is here, but she knows better than to question her betters, even as she starts when Anne leans over her charge’s cradle. The baby’s eyes are closed, rosebud lips pursed in peaceful repose, the dark hair capping her small head the precise shade of Richard’s.

 

She wonders if her children will look so. She wonders also if Richard will love them as he obviously does this baby, even if he does not love their mother. She tries to ignore the pang in her heart that the thoughts provoke. “She is a beautiful baby.”

 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mistress Bell agrees instantly, yet in a subdued tone, as though she does not want to disagree with Anne, but does not want to appear too affectionate toward her charge, because she is not entirely sure what Anne wishes of her.

 

She feels her lips curve, not quite a smile, but something satisfied nevertheless, recognizing the other woman’s reaction for what it is.

 

“And bonny,” Mistress Bell adds. “’Specially for only five months.”

 

This is power, certainly; but is it power as the Kingmaker’s daughter, or the queen’s sister, or the Duchess of Gloucester? Or merely as mistress of Middleham?

 

Whatever it is, she must use it wisely.

 

\---

 

But she feels powerless when she receives Isabel’s latest letter, reading her sister’s words over and over in disbelief.

 

_As you know, Richard has petitioned George to grant him the wardship of the Rivers girls, though they are worthless wardships. As I have had to hear far too often, George does not especially wish to give them to Richard, but is reluctant to deny him unnecessarily. That is to say, if there is no mischief or ill intent in it. Tell me what he means by it._

She does _not_ know. It seems it is not enough for Richard to bring his bastard into their household without her consent; he must also invite the witch’s daughters to darken their door.

It is too humiliating to admit to her sister that she does not know her husband’s motives because she does not know his plans, when the whole purpose of their marriage is for her to keep him loyal, for she has accepted that she will not find happiness in it. And so she must put her mind to determining what Richard means to do by seeking to bring the Rivers girls to live with them.

 

Isabel ends the letter with her usual command – _burn this_ – and Anne gladly tosses it into the roaring fire.

 

\---

_September 1469_

George has Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville declared invalid, claiming that Edward had been pre-contracted to Lady Eleanor Butler. Their daughters might have been allowed to keep the Plantagenet name, as Anne’s own sister Margaret is a Neville despite her illegitimacy, but because Edward himself had no right to it according to George and Father, they are Greys now, as their mother was during her marriage to Sir John Grey.

 

Still, not long after securing the throne, George has the former princesses of York removed from their mother’s keeping, for Elizabeth Woodville remains in the Tower with her mother Lady Rivers until they are executed on charges of witchcraft shortly after Nan’s birth. That is one charge of George and Father’s that Anne does believe.

 

The girls are then placed with some distant Neville relations despite Duchess Cecily’s repeated requests to have them given over to her care.

 

\---

_September 1470_

By sunset, her mind is still full of questions despite the long ride she took to clear it. She returns to the stables with her faithful mount only because she has no choice; soon, she will not be able to see well enough to ride on.

 

Cross and hot, exhausted from trying to outrace her troubles, she commands “a bath, at once” to the first maid she sees, stripping off her gloves impatiently.

 

The maid – a new girl whose name she cannot remember – fidgets silently as she takes them.

 

“What is it?” she demands.

 

“The duke is waiting on you for supper, Your Grace.”

 

“Do I look as though I am in a fit state for supper with the duke?” she snaps.

 

The maid flinches and Anne regrets her sharp words at once. She has never spoken so to a single member of the household at Middleham before and all over Richard. She would seethe in anger at him if she did not feel so disappointed in herself.

 

“Tell him I am indisposed,” she says more gently. “I fear I rather overexerted myself,” she lies.

 

Timidly, the maid nods.

 

When her bath is finally prepared, she sinks into it with a grateful sigh, letting the quiet little maid, who has surprisingly deft fingers, wash her hair and later, after Anne rises from her bath and dries herself, comb her hair dry before the fire.

 

She turns at the noise without. “What is that?”

 

“His Grace requested supper be laid in your solar.”

 

She resists the urge to groan. She cannot tell Richard that Isabel has alerted her to his doings, but she will find it difficult to bite her tongue if forced to be in his company. Yet she cannot dismiss him; she has pled a headache to excuse herself from supper the two evenings since his return from Sheriff Hutton and cannot continue to avoid him. “Very well,” she sighs. She will not bother dressing at this hour, opting instead to don an informal bedchamber robe and leave her hair loose to dry fully.  

 

\---

He rises to his feet when she enters.

 

“Richard,” she begins. “I did not expect you would so desire my company for supper.”

 

“I have hardly seen you since I returned,” he replies, sitting once she is seated.

 

“And how was your journey?”

 

“Well enough, thank you.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

They eat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, eyes trained on their plates until Richard’s voice breaks the quiet. “There is something I want to speak to you about.”

 

And here it is. He has no real desire to pass time with her and she knows it well. _Has he another bastard he wishes to bring to live with us?_ _Besides his nieces,_ she wonders meanly, _of whom he has said nothing?_ Slowly, she lifts her head to look up at him.


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his words to the contrary, in the months since Kate’s arrival at Middleham Richard has treated her more warmly, treatment that belies his earlier words.

“I wish to make Edward’s daughters my wards,” Richard says without preamble. “But George has been hard-hearted about letting even our lady mother have them and I know he does not trust me.”

 

She does not disagree.

 

“But you . . . you have your sister’s confidence and I – I truly mean no mischief.”

 

She wonders a moment if he read her correspondence before she herself received it – though the messenger is, of course, meant to keep her sister’s letters out of other hands. But she broke the seal herself.

 

“It is only that I do not think it is right for them to be amongst strangers when they have living kin who would gladly provide for them and treat them kindly. And perhaps, because you are here, he will agree where he has denied our mother. You will see that there is nothing untoward in it. We both know why he had us marry,” he says dryly, a sardonic twist to his mouth.

 

“He wished to make his queen’s beloved sister a royal duchess, of course,” she says too-innocently. She is not Richard’s ally and she will have him remember it. But at once she regrets letting her grievances get the best of her rather than deigning to agree. So she softens her words with a conspiratorial smile that feels strange on her face.

 

“Of course,” Richard echoes.

 

“And, as his queen’s loyal sister, I may write to her of the matter.”

 

His eyes grow warmer at the idea that he will have what he wants, his beloved dead brother’s precious daughters in his care. “Thank you.”

Bitterly, she thinks that, as cool as the sullen young Duke of Gloucester is known to be, there seems to be at least some warmth in him for anyone but her.

\---

_October 1470_

Four-year-old Elizabeth, three-year-old Mary, and one-year-old Cecily so resemble frightened fawns when they arrive at Middleham with their nurse that Anne finds herself fearing, despite herself, that they have not been well-treated by their guardians.

 

“You won’t remember me, but I am your uncle,” Richard begins quietly after Elizabeth and Mary have made remarkably precise curtseys for such little girls, Elizabeth murmuring “Your Graces,” while Cecily remains in the arms of their nurse. His face falls when Elizabeth shrinks back at his words, blocking Mary from view.

 

Her heart softens further at seeing little Elizabeth’s obvious fear, despite her vow that she would show no warmth to Elizabeth Woodville’s daughters. She wonders if the child immediately associates the word “uncle” with the king who took her parents from her and intervenes. “Not the king, but your other uncle, mind,” she explains gently. “Richard, your father’s youngest brother.”

 

Richard nods and Elizabeth looks marginally less fearful. He takes a knee to speak to her at eye level. “I loved your father very much and so I asked the king to be your new guardian. He agreed, so now you and your sisters will live here with me and my wife Anne –” He gestures briefly to her. “And my daughter Kate, who is of an age with Cecily.”

 

“Welcome to Middleham,” she says softly.

 

Unusually, Richard nearly smiles at her, but it is the hope in little Elizabeth’s eyes that stirs something warm and unfamiliar in her heart.

 

\---

 

_November 1470_

Despite his words to the contrary, in the months since Kate’s arrival at Middleham Richard has treated her more warmly, treatment that belies his earlier words.

 

She thinks it is her behavior toward the girls that has softened his stern edges, because he values family so and she has shown she values it also. She tells herself it does not matter to her, because he will never love her and she does not want to be fooled into hoping otherwise.

 

But that does not mean she will not enjoy what she can, as she enjoys the way Richard’s newfound warmth extends to their marriage bed.

 

He no longer limits himself to what must be done to get the heir that has yet to come. Instead, he exerts himself to give her pleasure, making her moan as she imagines the worst sort of wanton must do, as –

 

She is distracted from her devotions by the memory of him between her legs, the flush crawling down her cheeks to her neck and chest so vivid that her ladies ask if she is unwell.

 

\---

 

_December 1470_

 

They will have a quiet Christmas at Middleham rather than going to court, much to Isabel’s and their parents’ displeasure.

 

But Edward’s daughters, who have only been at Middleham two months, would not be welcome at court and it seems heartless to leave them alone for the festivities, when the previous year with their guardians must have been dreadful, even if they remember it barely or not at all, especially as little Lizzie has begun to come out of her shell. So they will stay, and Duchess Cecily will join them.

 

In the weeks leading up to the festivities, Anne busies herself with determining the menu and the decorations and deciding what presents she will make the children.

 

\---

 

_January 1471_

 

When the festivities are upon them, it is obvious which of her gifts is best-received. Lizzie’s eyes shine when she receives the flaxen-haired doll with bright blue eyes. “Like Mama,” she breathes in awe. “She’s so pretty!”

 

Anne shivers a moment, remembering her father’s old enemy, the gray-eyed queen, and sees her own unease reflected back at her in Richard when she meets his gaze, but the little girl before them is so pleased that she quickly forces herself to forget her discomfiture.

 

“Like you,” Richard says, patting the top of Lizzie’s blonde head. She does not startle at Richard’s touch any longer, having been thoroughly disabused of the notion that he will be anything like the king – her dimly-remembered uncle of Clarence, the very notion of whom still frightens her. “But now it is your aunt’s turn,” he continues once Lizzie has calmed slightly, her exclamations over her precious new doll quieted some. “You have sapphires to match your eyes already and I could not help but think emeralds would suit you, with your hair,” Richard says once she has opened the box containing a finely-wrought pair of emerald-and-diamond hair combs, the diamonds cunningly shaped into petals and the emeralds cut as rather generous leaves.

 

They will show to great advantage, and her vanity is flattered. “They’re exquisite,” she says softly.

 

“Ooh,” Lizzie gasps. “So pretty.”

 

“Indeed,” Duchess Cecily agrees with a faint smile.

 

She does not have the heart to keep her present out of Lizzie’s small careless hands as their niece insists upon “helping” her try on the lovely jeweled combs.

 

Richard laughs when he sees Lizzie’s handiwork and eventually works the combs free himself, his long fingers sliding pleasingly through the waves of her hair. When the combs are in their proper place, he looks her over with no small satisfaction. “You’ve no need of a lady’s maid when I am here,” he declares smugly.

 

“But you so like to undo her handiwork,” she murmurs, voice pitched for his ears only, eyes sliding to the chair she sat in the previous evening. She recalls with too-vivid clarity Richard kneeling before her once they were alone, as though she were queen rather than her sister, doing the wickedest things to her with lips and teeth and tongue –

 

She shakes her head. She never dreamed such things could be done at all, and certainly not between man and wife, but she enjoys them so that she decides she must gather her courage to ask how she may please _him_. She will, eventually.


End file.
